I May Run And Hide, But I Never Tell A Lie
by Sailor J-chanDuoxHilde 4ever
Summary: 2nd book in my autobiography series. Now 20 years old, Duo reflects on his past. Part 1: The transition between being homes and homelessness, the death of innocence and all he loved, and the birth of the God of Death. RR!


Disclaimer-I don't own Gundam Wing. Any characters/plots/conversation that did not appear in the manga/TV series/movie is mine.

AC 200-Duo Maxwell

Part 1

December 19th, AC 180-April 7th, AC 195

In some ways, I really envy Heero.

I don't grudge him his knowledge of war, or his famous girlfriend. I'm perfectly happy being a mechanic with Hilde and raising little Helena.

But I _do_ envy him his childhood. Not all of it, because half of it was horrible, but from the time he was born till he was 5.

Heero's mother, Aralia, actually wanted him. As anyone with that type of parent can tell you, it feels so good having parents who want you.

I have memories of my parents, and none of them are good. They were named Earl and Dana, and they hated me. Whenever I did something wrong, Earl said I was a mistake. Or he gave me a good smack upside the head. Dana was much the same, except she skipped the words and slapped me straight off.

They regretted having me for a son. To them, I was a waste of time, money, food, and air. They fed me, but did it in such a way that I felt like they didn't care whether I ate or not. They didn't bother sending me to school. And all the small things parents do, they never did. They never sat down and played with me, or taught me to read, or anything a child needs.

They didn't even bother to name me. My name was "Boy" or "You" or "If you don't clean that mess right now, I'm gonna…" or "Shut up, boy, you're giving me a headache!".

I was a little over 5 years old when they died in the crossfire during a battle between the Alliance and the AAA. The first I knew of it was when they didn't come back after a few hours. They never left home for more than two hours at a stretch. When they didn't come home the next morning, I grew scared. Despite how horribly they treated me, they'd been my only source of food and shelter. Where would I live? Who would feed me?

I did the only thing I could do. I ran. I ran all around the colony, yelling "Hello?", hoping someone would find me and take care of me.

I ran into someone, and both of us fell backwards into the street. I brushed my long hair aside and looked. It was not the hoped-for adult, but it was the next best thing.

It was my best friend, Solo. Since my parents never spent time with me, I spent my time outside and made a lot of friends. Solo was my oldest friend as well as the best.

"Hey!" he exclaimed. 

"Hi, Solo!" I said. "Uh, Solo, my mom and dad…they're _gone_." It seemed illegal to say the word "dead". We were only 5, after all. That would change.

"Mine are, too," Solo said, looking ready to cry. Solo was lucky. His parents had wanted him. 

My stomach rumbled. "I'm hungry."

We were quick to change the subject. We had short attention spans, and besides, what child wants to linger on a subject such as death?

Solo and I found our way among the streets that we were familiar with. We were amazed at the damage caused by the battle. Debris, puddles, sparking wire littering the ground. And dead bodies…they were everywhere.

We finally found what we were looking for. A street-side stand that had been smashed up produced a few apples. They were bruised and torn apart but it was food, and little kids aren't picky about what they eat.

"Hey, Solo!"

We looked up to see another boy running towards us, waving his arm. That was Alec, a friend of ours.

"Hey, Alec! Wanna apple?" Solo asked.

"Sure!" Solo tossed him an apple and he sat down with us. 

"I can't find my mom and dad," he said.

Solo and I shared meaningful glances, as if we knew more than we did.

The three of us were the start of our club of orphans. The survivors were quick to rebuild and the dead were buried and accounted for. In the end, there were seven war orphans. 

So we stuck together. There was a house that had survived the attack, but it was old and abandoned, and the superstitious among us claimed that it was haunted. I proved it wasn't, by sleeping in it for one night while the others watched outside, too nervous to sleep.

And so we moved in. That became our home for the next two years.

We didn't think we were doing anything wrong when we first stole food. After all, we'd always been supplied with food by our parents, and now that they were gone, we took it upon ourselves to get food.

I stole an armful of oranges from the market and was about to leave when a security guard stopped me.

"Little boy, what are you doing?"

"Getting oranges," I said simply.

"Where is your mother?"

"She's _gone_." I figured he would know what I meant. 

Of course, he didn't.

"What do you mean, "gone"? Are you lost?"

I shook my head. "Uh-uh."

He fixed me with a hard eye. "Boy, you're gonna have to come with me." He grabbed my free arm.

I panicked. Whenever one of my parents had grabbed my arm, they usually followed it up with a smack.

I kicked him in the shin and ran.

Behind me, I heard him shouting, and then there was more shouting, and then running footsteps. I didn't stop. I was too scared. Something in my panicking mind told me not to lead them to the others, so I took a left turn at the corner instead of the right.

I disappeared into an alley. I was panting, my legs aching, and I heard them run past me. I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Water." A hand grabbed my leg.

I jumped back. The hand released my leg, and I saw that it belonged to a homeless man. He was middle-aged but looked like he was 100. His yellowing skin was sunken in, but his eyes seemed ready to pop out of the sockets. He was dressed in clothes worse than my own.

"Water," he begged again, in a hoarse voice.

"I…I don't have any," I said.

"Please…"

I looked at the oranges I had in my arms. I took one of them and gave it to him. I could go without one for the day.

"Thank you," he said.

Suddenly, he collapsed. The orange rolled from his hand and he lay still.

"Mister?" I asked, nudging him with my foot. "Are you okay, mister?"

He didn't move.

Reality hit me like a sack of bricks. He was dead. He was as dead as my parents and the other orphan's parents and the soldiers who'd been lost in battle.

But he hadn't died of old age or natural causes or war. Something about his yellowing skin, his wide eyes, his choked voice told me that there was something definitely wrong here.

I turned and ran.

Within weeks, the virus spread to epidemic proportions. People dropped in the streets, either seriously ill or dead. Soon enough, the streets were emptied except for those who could stand the trip to the hospital to get medicine. And when no one was able to anymore, the doctors came to them. For a fee. And what a fee.

We weren't spared it. The younger ones—the 3- and 4-year-olds—dropped first. Every other day, another one fell ill. Only the oldest amongst us—Solo and I—could walk within the first few days we were hit.

And then Solo hit the ground and couldn't get up.

There's no doubt in my mind that Solo was hit hardest. He was the oldest, and took it upon himself to help the younger ones. But he wasn't a doctor and couldn't protect himself from it. The virus in him was worsened with each orphan he brought food to or found a bed for.

When he fell to the virus, it was up to me to take care of them all. Solo couldn't move except to open his eyes or mouth. The others could barely walk a few steps without sitting down to get their strength back.

I ran each day to the stores, void of people, to get food. It was easy to steal, since no one was there to stop me.

And then, once, I found the door to the store unlocked, and there was someone inside. Two people, actually. I opened the door. They didn't notice me, but I heard their conversation.

"That antidote cost an arm and a leg to get," one of them said.

"I know. I had to dip into my kid's college fund to get the cure for us. But it works miracles, by God. Believe me, we wouldn't be standing here talking if we didn't get that medicine."

I snuck back out, barely able to contain my excitement and relief. A cure! We could all get well again! Solo wouldn't die!

Then a pessimistic thought crept into my mind. They'd said it was expensive. And if adult people with jobs and incomes could barely afford it, what chance did a war orphan have?

I thought about where I was. I'd come to steal food. I'd stolen and gotten away with it before. I could steal the antidote and get away with it.

I snuck into the hospital later that day. I went during the day, so no one would suspect me.

I grabbed the lab coat of the first doctor I saw. He looked down at me. "Yes?"

"I need the cure." I was planning to have him lead me to the cure, and then I would steal it.

He looked annoyed. "Little boy, where are your parents?"

"I need that cure!" I yelled. "Solo and Alec and the others are gonna die!" We'd long since gotten over saying "gone".

"Okay, okay," the doctor said, trying to calm me down. "We'll get the cure to them. Where are they? Are they here?"

I shook my head. Relief flooded me. He'd offered to give us the cure! "I'll take you to them."

"Let me get my things."

He disappeared for a few seconds, but the time crawled and it seemed like hours before he came back. He finally reappeared with a bag in his hand.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" I yelled.

I had led him to the door of the hospital and was about to step out when he stopped and gave me a funny look of recognition. "You're a war orphan, right?"

"Yeah."

"How are you planning to pay for this?"

My relief had been so great that he volunteered to save the orphans that I had forgotten that I'd originally come to steal the cure. "I-I'll work for it! I work for a zillion years to pay you back!"

He shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I can only give the medicine to paying customers." He turned to walk away.

I felt hot. Burning hot. I'd never felt so angry, not even when my parents beat me or told me I was a mistake. 

The doctor didn't care about a bunch of war orphans. They were just a handful of dirty no-accounts who didn't matter because they had no money.

I found myself running towards him at a charge. He didn't notice me until his bag was in my hand and I was running towards the exit.

"Hey! Come back!" he yelled.

I kept running. Hot tears were in my eyes. I had finally realized that nobody gave two thoughts about us. Nobody cared whether we lived or not.

Nobody except me.

I finally arrived at our house after zigzagging throughout the colony to lose the doctor. I threw open the door and yelled.

"I got it! I got the cure!"

The orphan's faces lit up like a Christmas tree. A few of them tried to get up, but collapsed onto the ground again, too weak to stand.

I opened up the bag and took out the bottle of pills. I saw markings on the side of the bottle and squinted at it.

Then it hit me. I didn't know how to read. I didn't know how much to give them.

I went to Solo. He knew how to read. He could tell me what I needed.

"Solo, can you read this?" I asked, sticking the bottle in his face.

His eyes opened. Unlike the bulging eyes of the others, his were sinking in. "It says "Swallow one pill whole, alone every day until sym-symptoms disappear"," he recited, stumbling over "symptoms". 

"Thanks!" I said. I tried opening the bottle, but I couldn't. There were more markings here. I stuck the bottle in his face again. "What's that say?"

He squinted to see the words. ""Push down, twist left"."

I struggled with it for a few seconds, and then got it open. The pills inside were huge—horse pills, as I'd heard someone name them—and bright white. 

"Here." I stuck one pill in his mouth. He tried to gulp it down a few times but didn't succeed. He took it out of his mouth. 

"It's nasty."

"Here, I'll help." I took the pill and opened his mouth, then shoved it back as far as I could. I let go of his mouth. "Swallow."

After three tries, he got it down.

I went to the others and administered the medicine much the same way. Some of them could swallow on their own; others needed to be force-fed like Solo. But either way, I'd given them the medicine within an hour. And then I took one myself, because I'd been feeling ill, too.

The medicine made me tired quickly. I dropped off into dreamless sleep within ten minutes.

I woke up in the morning to the artificial sun shining in my eyes. After the first few seconds of grogginess, I realized something. I didn't feel ill. I was stiff from sleeping on the floor, but I was healthy. I'd only had very mild symptoms, but I hadn't expected it to work so fast.

I ran around, shaking the others awake. "It worked! The cure worked!"

Of course, the others caught my excitement and began to cheer and clap. One of them got up and managed to walk a few steps before sitting down, breathless.

"Solo!" I ran over to Solo. "Solo! It worked!" I shook him. "Solo!"

Solo didn't move.

"Solo?" I shook him. "H-Hey! Solo, wake up!"

He didn't move except when I moved him, and there was an unearthly calm on his white face. 

"S-Solo?" I whimpered.

I'd been too late. The medicine had come too late. My best friend was dead.

It was later on that I decided on my name.

When I was four, Solo invited me over to his house. His mother had welcomed us in with a smile on her face. I remember being shocked. My own mother never smiled.

"Who's your cute friend, Solo?" she'd asked.

"He has no name," Solo had said, deadly serious.

His mother had smiled, thinking we were joking. "Well then, since "Solo" means "One", you add your little friend here to make two. "Duo" means "Two". So I'll call you "Duo". Welcome to my house, Duo."

I'd told my parents about "Duo", but they'd smacked me for sounding impertinent. After that, I told Solo not to call me by that name.

As I sat alone an hour after Solo's death, I suddenly thought about that memory. It was my first warm memory in a long time.

I went to the other orphans, who had stopped crying for Solo but remained red-eyed and sniffling.

"Since "Solo" means "One", and I was his best friend, my name's "Duo". It means "Two". So from now on, you call me "Duo"."

We continued stealing for the rest of the year, and well into AC 187, too. We became the bane of the colonists' existence, but since we were poor war orphans, no one bothered to do anything about us.

We were running home from one thieving trip when I ran into someone.

"Ow!" I fell backwards in the street, dropping my stash. "Owww…" 

"Oh, I'm sorry," the one I'd run into said, kneeling to help me up.

"Hold it!" someone yelled from behind me.

"Uh-oh." I put my hands on the man's head and jumped over him like he was a hurdle. "Sorry!" I kept running.

"That went well, huh, Duo?" Alec asked. We were in the safety of our house, eating our stolen food.

"Yeah!" I said. "And tomorrow we'll sneak into the _military warehouse_."

"What?! Isn't that kinda…?"

"If they catch us, we're toast!" one of the younger ones said.

"Hmph," I said disdainfully. "It's just a fluke that we've lasted this long, anyway. We might as well go all the way!"

We had barely made it to the warehouse when we were spotted by the guards.

"Halt!" one of them yelled.

We panicked. Nobody had ever seen us coming before. We began running in the opposite direction.

From behind us, we heard gunshots and footsteps running after us.

"Run, run!" one of the orphans yelled. Like we needed to be told to run.

"Firing without warning…are those guys nuts!?" I yelled.

"Soldier don't care about women and kids!" Alec yelled, covering his ears to block out the sound of gunshots.

The soldiers followed us all the way into town. The streets were cleared of people as they ran, screaming, away from the guns.

We kept on running till we reached home.

We woke up to the sounds of beeping and mechanic whirring. We were all up in an instant. I grabbed the youngest one's hand and ran out, the others following me.

"Good, you're out," someone said. We looked to see several men standing before us. All of them had faces of rage and malice. "Take it out!" the one who spoke called.

We turned in time to see a wrecking ball crash into our house.

"Stop it!" one of the younger ones yelled. "What'd we ever do to you?"

"Don't give me that crap! I can't believe you idiots went after the Alliance's food stores!"

"But…but this is our home!" I yelled. "If you bust it up, where are we supposed to go?"

"The Maxwell Church has offered to take you in," another one said. "Be grateful!"

"A…church?" I whispered. My parents had never taken me to church. Another waste of time, in their eyes.

We were brought to the church before our house had been completely torn down. We crowded together, wide eyes looking all directions.

"Welcome to the Maxwell Church," a female voice said.

We looked up to see two people before us. There was a woman dressed in a nun's habit. Standing next to her was the one I'd run into the other day. I hadn't realized that I'd run into a priest.

"My name is Sister Helen," the woman said. "This is Father Maxwell." She gestured to the priest. "You may call me by my full title, or you may call me "Sister". You can do the same with Father Maxwell."

She surveyed us with her eyes and pointed to me. "Are you the oldest one here?"

"I'm in charge of them," I said haughtily, stepping forward. "And if it's all right with you, we'd like to leave."

Father Maxwell smiled and Sister Helen laughed. "What's your name?"

"Duo."

"Is that your real name?"

"No," I said rudely. "Is your name real?"

"Yes. Well, the "Sister" part is a title, but yes, my name is "Helen". Anything else?"

She'd one-upped me. I shut my mouth.

"Well, Duo, I'm afraid you're not leaving here. The Maxwell Church is your new home."

"Don't! I said quit it!"

I was sitting on a chair. Sister Helen was behind me, brandishing a pair of scissors. 

We'd already been cleaned up and given new clothes to wear. The clothes looked the robes Father Maxwell was wearing. 

Then Sister Helen had sat me down and told me she was going to cut my hair. 

I got angry. My hair had always been long. Solo's had been, too. There was no way I was going to let her cut my hair.

"What's going on here?" Father Maxwell asked, entering the room.

"This boy," Sister Helen said. "He won't let me cut his hair." Her free arm was around my neck and shoulders, trying to hold me still as I struggled in her grasp.

"Well, duh!" I said. "Bad enough I gotta wear these weird clothes! I can't let you cut my hair, as well!"

Sister Helen let me go and put her hands on her hip. "But it's all scraggly and tangled. It's unhygienic."

"I like it like this!" I shouted at her.

"Sister Helen, let Duo have his way," Father Maxwell said.

"But…" Sister Helen protested.

Father Maxwell smiled and nodded.

I sat rigidly as she brushed my hair and then began to do something with it. After 10 minutes, she let me get up.

"So. There you go."

I tried to turn my head and see the back of my hair. I could just barely see that she had braided it.

"No complaints, right?"

I laughed, swinging the braid from side to side. "Yeah! Makes it easier to move around. It won't get in my way when I steal stuff."

"Are you still talking like that?" Sister Helen said.

Father Maxwell laughed. "Duo, there's no need for you to steal as long as you're here."

"Oh, that's right!" I said. "I'm supposed to be begging now, not stealing."

"Begging?"

"Isn't that how it works? I mean, a church is kept up by the townspeople's donations." I remembered that churchgoers used to come to our house for donations and never received any.

"Oh my, for a child!" Sister Helen gasped.

"You're right. It's just as you say," Father Maxwell said.

I felt like I was being too friendly, so I glared at them. "Yeah! So don't get all high and mighty!"

The two exchanged amused glances.

Every day, people looking to adopt came in. And everyday, I was left behind.

Once, someone was interested in me. But the daughter she'd brought along made faces at me and then pulled my hair.

I panicked. My parents had grabbed my hair that way, too. It took me a second to realize that I wasn't getting hit, but I was still angry. No one should pull my hair like that! 

I turned around and slapped her.

After that, no one came to adopt me, so I found myself in permanent residence with the Maxwell Church.

I wish I could say that I at least molded into school society, and I could. I lasted…for the first five minutes.

"Duo, since you're the newest student, we'd like to start you off with reading," my teacher said. "Please open up to page 3 in your book and read the first paragraph.

Since I could count, I found the page. But the words stumped me.

"I…I…"

"Duo! What is the problem?"

I dropped my voice and hung my head so no one could see my face. "I can't read," I said.

The class burst out laughing. The teacher looked flabbergasted. "Duo, you are in 2nd grade. Every 2nd-grader can read."

"Duo can't!" someone yelled "Duo's dumb. Dumb Duo!" The class laughed again.

Hot tears filled my eyes. "Shut up! Just shut up!" I slammed my book shut and threw it Jay. Then I got up and ran out of the school.

I was running blindly down the street when I ran into someone.

"Duo!"

I looked up to see Sister Helen. She was carrying a bag of groceries. "What are you doing here?"

"I hate school! I can't read! Everyone thinks I'm dumb!"

"Wait, wait." She put her hand on my shoulder and steadied me. "You can't read?"

"A…a little," I said.

"What can you read?"

I thought of the bottle of pills. I'd memorized them. "I can read "Swallow one pill whole, alone every day until symptoms disappear", and "Push down, twist left"."

"Where'd you learn that?"

"From the cure I stole."

"The cure…? You mean the antidote to the virus that went around last year?"

I nodded. "Solo read it to me. I memorized it."

"Who's Solo?"

"Solo is…Solo was my best friend."

She looked at me, and I saw she understand what I meant by "was". She took my hand in hers. "Come on, I'll take you home. And I'm going to teach you how to read."

From then until December, I was home-schooled in the church. Sister Helen and Father Maxwell taught me from 8 till 3 Monday-Saturday.

On December 18th, the day before I turned 7, they sent me back to school.

"Hey, look, here's Dumb Duo!"

So things hadn't changed. I glared at them and held my books against my chest. The teacher hadn't come in yet. "I can read. I can read just as good as you can."

"Prove it!" someone shouted.

I sat down at my desk, opened up my book, and began reading. I read loudly and clearly for two pages straight. Then Jay, the one who had called me Dumb Duo earlier, thumped the book with his fast, blocking my view. His face was pink with indignant anger.

"So what if you can read," he hissed. "You still smell like a sewer."

I stood up, reared back my fist, and punched.

"Duo, wait!"

I stomped out of Sister Helen's office. I'd been sent home. 

She grabbed my wrist just before I left.

"Oh, Duo, you did it again!"

"I-it was their fault. Theirs!"

"How can you say that, when it was you who sent the other kids to the hospital?"

I gulped. "Yeah, but…"

Sister Helen sensed something. She turned me around and knelt in front of me. "Duo, what did they say to you?"

"They said…" I dropped my voice. "They said I smell like a sewer."

Sympathy flashed in her eyes, and then she hugged me.

I was shocked. Nobody had ever hugged me before.

"See, you're not smelly at all," she said.

"R-really?" I asked.

"Really. So no matter what people say, you just ignore them."

"Okay."

"You say there's no God?"

It was the next day, my 7th birthday. I was sitting in Father Maxwell's lap. Sister Helen was siting a few feet away.

"Yeah!" I said. "If there really was a God, then wouldn't he make it so there weren't any more wars? And if there were no wars, there wouldn't be any more orphans like me."

"Duo, wars aren't started by God, but by people," Father Maxwell said. "What people begin, people must end for themselves."

"Hmmm." I mentally digested that. "So it doesn't matter if God exists or not?"

"Th-That's not so!" Sister Helen said.

"Then the only god in this world is the God of Death," I said conclusively.

"Duo, you don't believe in God, but you believe in the God of Death?" Sister Helen looked incredulous.

"Yeah! I've never seen any miracles, but I've seen lots of dead people!"

The two of them looked stumped. Then they laughed.

"Dear me, it's hard to argue with you," Sister Helen said. "You say the strangest things!"

I bristled at their laughter, but then Sister Helen kissed my cheek and wished me a happy birthday.

AC 188 rolled around, and the battles all started again.

Father Maxwell opened the church doors to the injured soldiers, the doctors, and the mourners. And soon enough, the AAA ringleaders found their way in.

It was August, an unbearably hot day. The commander of the AAA stood in the pulpit, a place I'd only seen Father Maxwell stand.

"No matter what, we've _got_ to capture the base at point G2. That's the only option we have left!"

"Yes, sir!" one of his generals said.

'It's starting all over again,' I thought. 'We were living happily until just the other day.'

"Just one Mobile Suit!" the commander said. "If we can get that, then freedom will be ours!"

"Haven't we had enough of this?"

The soldier turned to stare at Father Maxwell. He was aging, and looked older from the past two days. He'd heard more confessions of the dying, comforted more mourners, and blessed more dead than he should ever had to have.

"What did you say?!"

"Didn't Heero Yuy once say: "We, the people of the colonies, didn't come to live in space so we could fight"? No matter what, we must not fight."

The commander swore, then shouted, "I dare you to say that again!"

"I'll keep saying it over and over. We must not fight."

"Y-you…shut up!" One of the generals smacked Father Maxwell. Weary with his last two days' work, he hit the ground.

"Hey!" I shouted, running out from behind the pew I was hiding behind.

"Stop it! Please!" Sister Helen ran inbetween the general and Father Maxwell. "Please! No more!"

"Shut up!" Another general, female this time, smacked Sister Helen across the face. "We've got to have total solidarity! Why are you confusing people with useless talk of peace at a time like this?!"

"They might be Alliance spies," one muttered.

"Hmm. It's possible."

"B-but," Sister Helen protested.

"Shall we make 'em confess?" one said. 

Ugh. If you're going to do church humor, at least make it funny.

"Hey, wait!" I yelled. They turned to look at me. "All you want's one Mobile Suit?!"

"Huh?" the commander muttered.

"I'll go steal one for you! And in return, I want you guys to get out of here! This is supposed to be a peaceful place!"

"Hmph," the commander said. "The brat's talking nonsense."

I clenched my fists. "I may run, and I may hide, but I don't tell lies like you guys!"

"Say what?!"

"Duo!" Sister Helen yelled. "Don't…!"

"One Mobile Suit." I turned. "Coming right up!" I began running.

"Duo!" Sister Helen yelled, but I pushed open the church doors and ran.

I took off down the street, towards the Alliance base. The street was dilapidated and void of people.

I cursed them all in my head. "Why?!" I shouted to the air. "They all used to hate war just the other day! Why go start another one?!"

"Intruder!"

I jumped over a fence and continued running. 'I hate the Alliance, too!' I thought. 'But…but still!"

"Stop!" a soldier yelled, pointing his gun at me.

"If you guys want a war so much," I yelled behind me, "then why don't you jerks all go fight _each other_!?"

I stopped to catch my breath. I had found a truck carrying a Mobile Suit.

I pressed onward, shoving past the soldier guarding it. He barely had time to say "Huh? Hey, who's in there?!" when I swerved around and put the pedal to the metal.

They were shooting at me again. I'm always getting shot at. All my enemies seem to choose this as their weapon of choice against me. 

I could barely see above the steering wheel, but I knew how to drive a car. It was something I'd picked up when I still lived with my parents.

The shots stopped firing, and I thought that this was yet another time I'd escaped death. I'd escaped beatings, starvation, the virus, when everyone around me had died.

"I'm only alive through luck, anyway," I said out loud, suddenly feeling horribly guilty that I was a survivor. "If someone's gonna do the dirty work, I should be me."

At the first rebel soldier I saw, I stopped the truck, jumped out, yelled "Here's your Mobile Suit!" and then ran. I had to get back to the church.

"No…This...can't be…"

The church lay in ruins. There were no recognizable features in it. And I couldn't see Father Maxwell or Sister Helen.

"D-Duo…" someone called from my left. I turned to see Sister Helen sprawled on the ground. She was in terrible pain. This was the first time I'd seen her without her head covering. To my surprise, she seemed very young. 25, at the most.

"I'm glad…you're safe."

She wouldn't be the only one who said that to me. 7 years later, Hilde, also nearly dead, would say it to me.

"Sister!" I ran to her and knelt down.

"Don't make us worry like that," she scolded weakly. "Father was…worried about you…even to the end."

"I-I'll go get a doctor!"

"Th-the Alliance came…and attacked. But we…couldn't leave…the church."

"W-was it my fault?!" I yelled, and that guilt washed over me again. "Because I stole that Mobile Suit from the Alliance?"

She didn't answer my question, but kept talking. "Father was so noble. H-he kept…preaching peace."

"That's not noble! That's just dumb! What's the point if he's dead now?!"

Sister Helen smiled at me, the You'll-Get-It-Eventually smile. "Duo…" Her hand reached up to touch my face. "M-May you have…God's blessing."

And then her hand fell to the ground.

I lifted my face to the sky and screamed.

I was arrested, of course, for stealing that Mobile Suit. That's another thing my enemies love to do. They always throw me in jail.

I let them drag me. I didn't care if I was thrown in jail or left there to rot. I wanted to die.

I'd spent a few days in jail, refusing to eat, trying to sleep but every time woken up by the sight of someone who I'd loved who'd died whereas I'd survived. Any rest I had was interrupted by someone nudging me awake, saying that I was taking fits in my sleep.

On once such instance, it was a guard who woke me with the butt of his gun. My eyes shot open. They were bloodshot and wide. As soon as I saw the Alliance uniform, I skidded back along the floor until I reached the wall.

"Get away from me!" I yelled. "Stay away!"

"Listen." He stepped towards me.

"_Stay away from me! I'll kill you, too!_"

I was crazy and I knew it. It felt good to be crazy. People think crazy people have lost all sense of themselves, but we really know ourselves better than sane people do. It's just that our reactions are abnormal.

After this I was admitted to Psyche Ward. I was given the black hat all Psyche Ward patients were given. The jail cells here were heavily guarded, but mine didn't need to be. I was still taking fits in my sleep, and I almost never ate. But I wasn't trying to escape.

Not yet, anyway. Not until I heard the guards talking.

"Hey, didya know that kid's a Maxwell Church survivor?" They were calling the battle that had killed 245 people the Maxwell Church Tragedy.

"Wow. Guess he cut a deal with death, huh?"

Death. I'm always connected with death, because I'm constantly escaping it.

Suddenly, I couldn't stand it. I couldn't stand to be near these people. These people had killed Father Maxwell and Sister Helen and Solo, even if they hadn't meant to kill them, and took away the only real home I'd ever had.

I ran at them, slamming against the bars. "I'm a survivor because you made me that! I'm a survivor because you killed everyone else!"

They turned and pointed their guns at me. I could see the fear etched in their faces like I could see the hand attached to my arm.

"When I get out of here," I said, "I'm going to make you pay for all that you've done. You all deserve to die. You all deserve to rot in Hell."

I made my escape that night.

It was all so easy, I wondered why I hadn't done it before. Knock out the guards in front of the cell, swipe their security card and let myself out at my leisure. It was so easy it was almost fun.

Getting out was easy, too. I never realized how living on the streets had changed me. I was stealthy as an alley cat. And my dark clothes made it easy to blend in shadows. It was ridiculously easy.

For the first time in months, I breathed fresh air. 

"There are many things in life we take for granted, Duo," Sister Helen's voice whispered in my ear, and suddenly I was in her office, sitting on her lap, in the days the battles were starting up again. "The air we breathe and the food we eat, and sadly, our loved ones. We think that these things will always be there. And God allows this because He's waiting to see when we will wizen up. He's waiting for humanity to realize that life is not a game, and war isn't a game either, and what we do creates an outcome that is entirely our fault."

Me stealing that Mobile Suit had created an outcome that had been entirely my fault. And I had taken for granted that our troubles would end if I did.

I made a promise to myself that night. I would never take anything for granted again. I would fight tooth and nail to protect those things I loved. The promise is what made me practically forbid Hilde to go to battle years later.

The promise also made me more convicted that I was the only one who should suffer through pain.

The colony was still in turmoil. Many of the buildings were still down. Half the buildings that were up didn't have electricity or running water. We didn't have enough workers or resources, and construction workers hired anybody.

I was walking down the street when someone stopped me by yelling, "Hey, kid, need a job?"

I looked over. The man who had called me was sitting on a pile of rubble.

"I don't know construction," I answered.

"I can teach you construction. And I can pay you."

And that was how I learned to be a mechanic. Puts a whole new meaning to the saying "something I picked up off the streets", doesn't it?

I lived the next three years doing odd jobs like this. But as the colonists rebuilt, the jobs slowly thinned out. So I went back to stealing.

And once again, my stealing completely changed my life.

A Sweepers ship was parked just outside the colony. A sweepers ship is like a scavenger hunter, picking up random things—sometimes, not-so-random things—mechanics use.

The pickings had been pretty thin, so it seemed like a logical place to get some real food.

Well, long story short, it didn't go over as well as I had planned. Their security was extremely tight. I got too cocky—I'm sure anyone will tell you that—and too proud of my skills.

Thus, I wasn't expecting to trip the alarm system. Or have two guards come out of nowhere and catch me.

"Leggo! Lemme go! I said, lemme go!" I tied to fight my way out.

"You've got some nerve sneaking aboard a sweepers sip, you little punk!" one of them yelled.

"What's going on?" a new voice suddenly said.

The three of us turned around to see who the voice belonged to. That was my first sighting of Dr. G.

"A stowaway! He was raiding the food stores!"

"Hmph. Even I want some real food now and then." I tugged against their hold on me. "Leggo!"

Dr. G looked at me hard, then spoke. "Let him."

"But…"

"Just let him go."

They let go of me.

"Kid, I'm impressed you were able to sneak aboard. My security system should've been perfect. How did you do it?"

"That's a trade secret," I said. "But if it helps your pride, I'll say it was pretty tough."

He laughed. "You're an interesting kid."

"I'm no kid!" I shouted. "My name's Duo. Duo Maxwell, who may run and hide, but never tells a lie."

"Maxwell?" He snorted. "Like Maxwell's Demon, eh?"

That was my new nickname. The demon who brought the end of the Maxwell Church.

I swallowed my rising feeling of guilt and smirked. "Nope, not just a demon. I'm the god of death."

"This is the Deathscythe, Duo," Dr. G said, gesturing to the massive Gundam. It was a few months later.

"Whoa," was all I could say.

"We've been building it for quite some time. Once it is completed, it will carry out Operation Meteor."

"Operation Meteor?"

"The plan to drop a colony onto Earth. And the Gundam will take over in the ensuing chaos. Too simple a plan, really. Drop and kill. Q.E.D. And the Barton Foundation, our sponsor, has asked for someone to pilot it." He gave me a piercing gaze.

"What?! No way! I am NOT going to be responsible for another…" I stopped myself.

"Another massacre? Like the Maxwell Church Tragedy?" He sounded amused.

"You shut up. You don't know anything about that. You don't know what it's like to see the only real home you have demolished and see the only people who thought you worth the air you wasted die. I watched her die, knowing it was my fault. And the Psyche Ward, all I could think about was how it was my fault, mine and Oz's, and all I wanted to do was kill myself…"

I trailed off, horrified. I had never shared my feelings with anyone.

Dr. G was staring at me. Then he suddenly smirked and shoved his hand in his pocket. "Fine, if you feel that strongly about it. I still want you to pilot Deathscythe, but for now, we'll ignore Operation Meteor."

I looked at him. "Thanks."

I worked with Deathscythe day in and day out for 2 and ½ years. Life was becoming routine. Finally. Wake up, eat, and train with Deathscythe. Throw in the occasional attack on the Alliance and that was my life.

And then rolled around April 6th, 195.

Lemme tell you, attacking an Alliance shuttle during a high-tension time is NOT a bright move.

"Thruster system's been hit! Vernier output down 40%!" someone shouted.

"What now? We can't get the Alliance off our backs!"

No answer. I HATE that.

"Hey, gramps, I said, we're gonna get caught!" I yelled back at Dr. G.

"It's no good. Let's abandon ship."

"Huh?

"Come with me." He started walking away.

"Where are we going?"

"To the Deathscythe."

"The Deathscythe?!" At this time, it could only mean one thing. "I told you, I'm NOT doing Operation Meteor!"

"It can't be helped. Now we must join with the Barton Foundation."

I clenched my fist. "And so we commit mass murder?"

Heavy silence was what answered me.

Well, I wasn't about to let myself be fooled into causing another massacre. I decided that I'd destroy all chances that Operation Meteor had of taking place.

We had lots of bombs on our shuttle. It was easy for me to sneak one out. Even the strongest one we had. Strong enough to destroy Deathscythe.

"So this'll end everything."

I pressed the detonation button and waited for the boom.

Nothing. A great, big, sticking pile of nothing.

"What happened?" I thundered, pressing the button with each word. "Why won't it explode?! What did I do wrong?"

"Duo."

Dr. G was behind me. He smirked as he dropped the fuses to the bomb I'd strapped on Deathscythe.

"Deathscythe is a piece of art. Think of a better way to use it than destroying it."

"Huh," I snorted. "I'm not about to have my buddy here used as a tool for a massacre."

He walked towards me and reached into my jacket, pulling out the gun I'd hidden inside.

"Hm. I see you were planning to kill me after you destroyed Deathscythe."

"I was gonna kill everyone here, including myself. If it meant peace for this colony, I'd be the god of death any day."

"If you're prepared to go that far, try and outwit me."

"What?"

"Duo, why don't you steal Deathscythe? Take it to Earth now. Just ignore Operation Meteor…There's a man called Howard on the Pacific Ocean. You can rely on him. Of course, go as the god of death."

"The god of death. Well, it's a lot better that being the hero of a massacre."

I removed the bomb and got into the cockpit.

Dr. G came up on the intercom screen.

"Easy enough to tell the Barton Foundation that it was stolen," I commented.

"Congratulations, Duo. Now the Deathscythe is yours."

Think I'm gonna thank you?"

"Now here's your mission."

"Huh?" I was surprised that he would still be giving me orders.

"Destroy the main motor in Oz's North American weapons factory. I'm sending you the map and the attack route."

"And what's in it for me?" I said, half-joking.

"Nothing. No fool would pay the god of death."

I swore. "Well, if I'm death, then you're pestilence."

"You're target is Oz. They destroyed the colony's peace. This is our revenge."

"Then why not destroy them here, instead of going to Earth?"

"Don't worry about the colonies. Get them before they get you. That's your mission."

"Okay, fine. I'd rather die then be ruled by Oz."

Dr. G opened the doors leading to outer space. I lifted Deathscythe from his lying-down stance nad brought him to full height.

And then, I was outta there like a bat outta Hell.

If you'll excuse the joke.

I had a tough time mixing the Episode Zero manga and the OVA, because the confrontation between Dr. G and Duo both happen, but differently, and at the same time. Hope I did a good job.

Some of you may have noticed that Duo's is longer than Heero's. That stand to reason. Duo's the most open about himself, isn't he? Since these stories are from the pilot's POV's, wouldn't he be more willing to talk about himself than the others would?

Keeping with this ordinance, Trowa's will be the shortest. Heero's and Wufei's will be about the same. I'm not quite sure about how long Quatre's will be, because his is the least traumatic past of them. But Duo's is definitely the longest.

Now, I want you guys' opinion on this. I'm doing the stories of the pilots, Zechs, and Relena, but would anyone mind if I did Treize's, Lady's, Hilde's, Noin's, Middie's, Dorothy's, and Sally's stories? (Nataku's story will blend in with Wufei's) I just wanna know if I'd get any feedback on them.

REVIEW!!


End file.
